The Perseverance Stratagem
by April in Paris
Summary: Amy felt that she had been too patient. He felt she was accusing him of not being patient. That was not true. Sheldon had an Amy-shaped heartache, and he needed to mold it into something else. He had been living in perseverance. And pain. Now he would take control of his own story arc, he would slowly, carefully, quietly demonstrate his love. CANON
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: It's not summer without a hiatus fic! As it's about the current hiatus, this story is obviously not part of my 'Shamyverse.' Let me know what you think.**_

* * *

 **The Perseverance Stratagem**

Cats. Sheldon thought a lot about cats the first week. He liked cats. He liked how warm and soft it was to sleep next to one, gently touching its fur that felt like flannel. He like how calm they were when he talked, and he never doubted they are deeply listening as they slowly blinked their green eyes. Yes, sometimes they could be aloof and sometimes they wanted to be alone, but you never doubted that they loved you. Because a cat always came back for your love. Right?

"I was thinking maybe you and I should get a pet," he said one day that week over breakfast. "Not a turtle, though, they bite."

Leonard's spoon stopped half-way to his mouth. "No. We're not starting that again."

"Starting what again?"

"Listen, buddy," Leonard put his spoon down and furrowed his brow, "I know you're upset. But remember last time you got all those cats, what I told you? Even though it's normal to try and fill the hole in your life with something else, it never works."

Sheldon snorted, incredulous. Of course he knew it wouldn't work. As if there were enough cats in the entire world.

* * *

 _"_ _How is Sheldon?"_

 _"_ _Well, there was a scary moment that we thought maybe he was going to start collecting cats again."_

* * *

Noodles. Noodles pleased Sheldon because of how uniform they were and how they swirled into interesting fractal shapes with the twirl of his fork. Noodles every Friday night with Amy at his side as he twirled. Now he concentrated on finding the one noodle that didn't match: broken, shorter, with its end ragged and poking out from his smooth mathematical food art. So he didn't have to look up, to see Amy in the brown chair next to Leonard. Where she sat now, more quiet than she used to be. But sometimes he could feel her eyes upon him. It hurt too much to look up, so he looked for the broken noodle instead.

" - Sheldon?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry," he jerked back to Leonard's question. "I think that if Claire Dearing wants to fight dinosaurs wearing high heels, that is her choice. She is an intelligent and brave woman with a strong personal fashion sense. I respect that."

"When did you become so knowledgeable about feminism - never mind," Howard said.

Bernadette coughed awkwardly. Raj made on unrelated comment. Amy never looked up. Maybe she was pointlessly looking for meaning in her own broken and ragged noodles, too. So far away from him it physically hurt.

* * *

 _". . . him?"_

 _"Well, you see him every Friday night. Quiet."_

* * *

Texts. "I am well. Nothing untoward has occurred. I am still on my journey." He knew precisely how many times he had sent that exact message last summer. He remembered with clarity how his fingers ghosted over the keypad at the end, the words _i miss you_ haunting him. Never had he typed them. Now, twice a week, he received "I am well. Nothing untoward has occurred. I am still on my journey." He was being haunted by the ghosts of his past.

It was his ring tone that got his attention, finally. He picked up his phone.

"Dude," Raj's voice said, "I've been trying to text you for like half an hour!"

"Sorry. I've decided texting is just a fad in which I am no longer interested in participating."

 _i miss you i miss you i miss you i miss you . . ._ Never once.

* * *

 _"_ _How's Sheldon?"_

 _"_ _You know, weird. He says that someone needs to do research to prove texting is depressing."_

* * *

Gollum. He was actually a nice chap, when you got to know him. When you sat next to him on a rock in his cave in your dreams. They talked about rings. Gollum warned him about keeping a ring too close, about not letting it perform its designated task. How if you stared at it too long, it would hypnotize you into believing things that weren't true. How the ring would eat you away. You would lose weight, your eyes would get big, your teeth got pointy, until one day you found yourself in a loincloth snatching a fish out of the creek to rip it apart while it was still alive.

"Hey, Sheldon, want to come to dinner with us? You haven't done that in a long time," Penny asked.

"Oh, I suppose," he sighed. He definitely didn't want to get down to loincloth size.

"Good! We're going to try that new sushi restaurant!"

Struck by a wave of nausea, Sheldon ran to the bathroom.

* * *

 _"_ _And Sheldon?"_

 _"_ _He's taken up strange dietary habits. Even for him."_

* * *

Laughter. Amy's laugh was so different from his, smoother, deeper, with less air. Amy's laugh was more grounded. Oddly, it was more serious. Sometimes, too often, he didn't understand why Amy was laughing. This had annoyed him for months, when they first met. And, then suddenly, he loved it. He loved her laughter long before he realized he loved her. Loved it long before he managed to tell her. It had tugged at him, the laughter, gently but incessantly pulling him toward her, tugging him toward love, toward happiness, toward forever, tugging . . .

The tugging was at his shirt sleeve, too.

"Come on, buddy, you know you shouldn't knock," Leonard said, as they stood outside of Penny's door, Amy's laughter coming in peals from inside that apartment. Sheldon didn't remember walking toward the door, he didn't remember raising his hand.

Slowly, he put his hand down. He nodded and turned around. He felt adrift, and he wanted to be tied down to that grounded laughter.

* * *

 _"_ _Sheldon?"_

 _"_ _Well, you know . . . honestly, like he's floating or something. Leonard said he's been working a lot, maybe too much."_

* * *

Patience. Amy felt that she had been too patient. He felt she was accusing him of not being patient. That was not true. By the time he had decided, after six weeks, that he needed - no, he wanted - to return home to her, each clack of the train wheels felt slower than the next. It took all of his patience not abandon his journey and fly home. Then, it had ended horribly, and he looked like a failure instead of a returning warrior, riding up on his white horse to her.

Six weeks. He had given her six weeks, just as she had given him. He showed that his patience was a match for hers, he demonstrated how much he respected her. Now he would prove how much he loved her. Sheldon had an Amy-shaped heartache, and he needed to mold it into something else. Heartaches were just the stuff that all the world's great literature was built upon, and Amy loved literature. So he researched all the romantic clichés in so-called chic lit.

For six weeks, he had been living in perseverance. And pain. Now he would take control of his own story arc, he would slowly, carefully, quietly demonstrate his love. Nothing outrageous, that wasn't his style. But he would no longer sit back and wait. He would be proactive. He couldn't bear to miss her any longer. He couldn't bear the silence.

* * *

 _". . . is he?"_

 _"Listen, sweetie, I need to be honest with you. I support you, I really do. Lord knows I could never consider dating Sheldon. But he's lost and he's confused . . . I mean, it's been six weeks! If you've explained anything to him, then he's not said a word about it, even to Leonard. But I don't think you have, have you? And you haven't even explained it to me! I thought you thought he was perfect, right? How can you bear to miss him this long?"_

 _Silence._

To be continued . . .

* * *

 ** _Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Shelly, you're awfully quiet this afternoon," Mary Cooper said, sitting in Leonard's chair, drinking her lemonade. Leonard and Penny had gone out with Beverly and she was alone with her son. Who was unusually quite. By now, he should have been talking more about the award he received yesterday or mocking her religious choices.

"Mom," Sheldon turned in his spot to face her, "the truth is I have something to tell you and it might upset you."

Mary leaned forward to set her glass on the coffee table. She studied Sheldon for a moment. Still so much a child, her baby boy, even though he was a grown man now. There had been times, this week, when she saw him as a man, how much he had matured recently and in ways in which she had often thought he would never be capable. They had all gone out to eat one night, and the polite way he held the door and pulled out Amy's chair for her . . .and the way he looked at her! That was the way a man looks at a woman, the way a woman longs to be looked at by her man.

But the way his knuckles where white as he gripped his own glass tightly made her want to gather her baby boy in her arms once again. "Well, go on. Just rip it off like a Band-Aid, son."

Sheldon took a deep breath. "I've decided to ask Amy to marry me."

"Jumpin' Jehosaphat!" Mary shrieked.

"Mom! Language!"

Amy. Although Mary still thought she was the strangest woman she'd ever met, she had to admit she was strange in the same ways her son was, that their strangeness suited both of them. Amy was good for Sheldon, there was no doubt about that. And the way she looked at him!

Bringing her hand up to cover her gapping mouth, Mary realized she wasn't actually surprised at the news. She was surprised that Sheldon had come to this conclusion on his own. She stilled her voice to reply calmly, "Now, when you say marry, do you mean a white dress and the whole nine yards?"

"If that's what Amy wants. And she probably does," Sheldon shrugged. Then he sat up a little straighter. "But don't get any ideas about your preacher!"

Ignoring that comment for a moment, Mary asked, "And, when you say marry, do you mean that you'll just play a little chess in the evenings before you go to a bedroom like Lucy and Desi's?"

"Well, I don't know if we'll play on a daily basis, but both Amy and I enjoy a competitive game of chess, so I suppose it could happen."

Mary sighed softly. Sometimes she was still uncertain if Sheldon was being purposely obtuse or he if he was just being . . . well, Sheldon. "I meant are you planing on knowing Amy in the Biblical sense?"

Sheldon raised his eyebrows slightly. "As neither of us is religious, I find that highly unlikely."

Mary shook her head. "No, Sheldon, I'm asking if you intend on sharing a bed with your lady friend. Your wife. On or after your wedding night."

"Oh." Sheldon blushed and looked away. "Amy has expressed her desire to carry my offspring to term." But it was the blush, not the words, that told Mary everything she needed to know. Then Sheldon turned suddenly back to her. "Will you help me pick out the ring? Please?" Then he added, softly, "She's the one."

She leaned forward and patted Sheldon on the knee. "I'd love to. Are we going now?"

"Yes!" Sheldon grinned and stood, grabbing her glass to take it to the kitchen. Once his back was turned as he loaded the dishwasher, Mary leaned all the way back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling, grinning and letting out a breath she had been holding for thirty-five years. "Thank you, Jesus!"

* * *

They were surprisingly smooth, the doors. More than once, it crossed Amy's mind that she should call Raj and Howard to take them away. How foolish she had been. Maybe it was the newness, but she couldn't help brushing them every time she passed. She felt like she could see them from everywhere in her apartment, they were never hidden. She wished she could fold them up into the drawer with their prom picture and the magazines in which he had published articles and the picture frame he had given her at Christmas.

One evening, she stood in the hallway and studied them. The squares, the white sign, the false windows, the blue the same shade as his eyes. She slowly leaned forward, running her palm softly along the surface. They were so large and sure. She leaned her cheek against one.

These particular TARDIS doors were not going to align the universe in less than hour. How she wished they would.

* * *

Flannel. He searched every inch of the apartment. Under his mattress, under his box spring, behind every book case; Sheldon dug through boxes in the closet, telling Leonard he was looking for something he needed for work. There was one in the unused bottom drawer on Leonard's side of the bathroom cabinet. The other one, though, wasn't really hidden, which is probably why he found it last. It was in the drawer of his dresser with their prom picture, under the magazines in which she had published articles and the hat he made at the Arts and Craft museum. A tube of her lipgloss, that he thought was his secret theft, rolled away from it. When? And she had seen . . . she had known . . .

He opened the vacuum bag and listened to the air rush in. A new toothbrush, a sample size bottle of her shampoo, and a nightgown. He took the nightgown out slowly, letting it fall softly through his fingers. It looked so small in his hands. He lifted it up and rubbed it against his cheek.

This emergency sleepover kit was not going to bring a solution by dawn. How he wished it would.

* * *

All day, in her lab, there was new smell. Not unpleasant; something honeyed and heady if vague. Amy wondered, briefly, if a coworker had overused a new perfume. But, no, there had been no coworkers in her lab.

When she went to the grocery store after work, she stopped unexpectedly by the flowers, the scent still tickling her nose. Well, why not treat herself? It's not like her boyfriend ever bought her flowers. At least not willingly, without a snide comment. Her eyes grazed over the blooms and arrested upon the calla lilies. Strong, proud, tall, straight. Curled in upon themselves as though they were wearing armor; it took effort and time to peel your way into the center of calla lily. A little pointed end, like a snappy retort. White for purity. White for returning, for resurrections. Yes, the calla lilies.

* * *

Flowers. Women liked flowers. Flowers were traditional. Flowers were elevated by the Victorians using the art of floriography. And Amy loved anything Victorian; she would understand. Thus, it would be jasmine for faithfulness, geraniums for sincerity, and peonies for healing.

"That's quite the unusual combination, sir," the florist had said. "It might be difficult -"

"There is no room for excuses. Or errors. Money is no object," Sheldon had interrupted. Of course, he had already studied their extensive satisfaction-guaranteed-or-your-money-back policy, and he wasn't afraid to use it.

Amy had to leave her lab unlocked every Monday evening for floor polishing. Sheldon arranged to meet the delivery person there at seven on Tuesday morning; he told Leonard he was going into work early but not why. Five giant bouquets, one for every year they'd known each other. Sheldon instructed the delivery person to place them were he knew they would be seen immediately, but not where they would contaminate her work. Trembling, he gently removed the green protective fabrics covers.

No, no! They are all wrong! The colors were right, the combinations were just as unusual as desired, but rhododendrons! Lavender! Snapdragons! No, no; beware, distrust, presumptuousness, they were all completely wrong!

"Take them away!" he demanded. He demanded his money back. No, there was nothing they could do to fix this. Flowers, he realized, could not fix this.

* * *

What was she craving? Amy's meal had been simple. Now that she didn't have to cook on Thursday nights for . . . She shook her head. Maybe something sweet. She opened the cabinet where she keep her snacks and treats, but it was almost bare.

Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Soiree squares! That's what it had been all day, her craving. For chocolate. He hated dark chocolate. Too bitter, he complained. And salt in chocolate! Yuck! But Sheldon wasn't here, was he? When she grabbed the package, something fell behind it. She reached in and pulled out a Hershey's milk chocolate bar. Oh, yes, from the cookies. His MeeMaw had been clear: the secret was broken chunks of Hersey's milk chocolate bar, not semi-sweet chips.

Pulling the thin silver underwrapping away, she broke off a chunk. She could really use a hug.

* * *

Chocolate. Boxes of chocolate. Amy loved dark chocolate, the darker the better. With disgusting things like sea salt in it. Ghirardelli was fine, he thought, but he wanted the best. Dark, rich Belgium chocolate, conched in small batches by hand. The best in the world. Mixed slowly with the highest grade of pink Himalayan sea salt. Probably by blind orphaned nuns, given the cost. Gorgeously wrapped, overnighted from Brussels.

Sheldon had it delivered to his office, because he had to sign for it. Then he would sneak over to Amy's lab while she was at lunch and leave it for her; he told Raj that he would work through lunch instead of joining them in the cafeteria. After the courier came, he determined he could open the lid without disturbing the fancy bow. He lifted it off, carefully.

Ruined! Melted chocolates had leaked out of their respective slots and swirled and mixed before solidifying again. It was mess. He threw the entire box away in anger. Forrest Gump was right: life was like a box of chocolates, and it was a mess.

* * *

Her morning had been awful. She woke up with a stuffy nose and moved slowly. No temperature, though, nothing serious. And Amy had important things to do at work, it really wasn't the type of day she could just take for a sick day without consequences later. She discovered that she had left the milk out the night before; she didn't know if she was more angry at herself for the unusual oversight or because she had to take the time to make something more complex for breakfast than cereal. Her hair dryer choose that morning to stop working. She was running behind.

In the mornings, instead of NPR, she often changed her radio station to an oldies station that played 1980s power ballads during rush hour. She liked hearing someone who felt comfortable being that open and passionate about their feelings. Of course, if she drove Sheldon to work, he had hated it and invariably complained. Turning on the car, it was mid-song. She knew it instantly. Richard Marx.

"Wherever you go  
Whatever you do  
I will be right here waiting for you  
Whatever it takes  
Or how my heart breaks  
I will be right here waiting for you"

Amy flipped back to NPR. He would have hated that song for so many different reasons. She hated being reminded of him when she was sick.

* * *

Love songs. No, he couldn't do it. It reeked of desperation, didn't it? Who was he kidding? He was desperate. His two previous plans having fallen through, he saw he was going to have to be more obvious. Sheldon was done hiding his feelings; he needed to show her that he was open and passionate.

"No, just 'To Amy from Sheldon,'" he explained over the phone, "she'll understand."

"And the song?" asked the radio station employee.

Thankful he was on the phone, alone in his office, telling Leonard he was working late, Sheldon blushed. "There's a song by Richard Marx. _Right Here Waiting_?"

"Is there a certain time?"

"7:45 a.m. Precisely. I want it in the middle of her commute."

He hated himself. Oh, good Lord, he was sick with desperation.

* * *

Amy had planned on asking Sheldon to go with her; she was going to ask on their Date Night, but, instead, it all fell apart. Amy was fairly confident he would agree after some slight whining. Because, for some reason she never understood, Sheldon liked to watch French movies with her. Four classic French movies in a row, each expressing a different view of war through a French person's eyes. And the last film was _A Very Long Engagement_. She loved those scenes at the lake, at the church, in the book. And, yes, the book would probably still be better but she wanted to see the movie. Now, she was glad she had procrastinated and not told him about the film festival. It would hurt too much to go and think of his absence. Their very long absence.

Instead, she settled in with popcorn alone. As the third movie ended and the lights came up, she thought about _A Very Long Engagement_ , how badly she had wanted to see it. She knew the words by heart: "She could stretch out her hand, he'd come even closer, she could touch him. He's the same, thinner, the most beautiful man in the world, with eyes of very pale blue, quiet and gentle, with something struggling in their depths, a child, a soul in agony."

She sighed deeply and got up to leave, even before the cute little ads people and businesses had paid for between films finished. All the personal ones had been about love, anyway: "To my beautiful wife." "Happy birthday to my bae!" She couldn't bear to watch the rest of the ads.

* * *

Proposal. Not wanting to be a hippy, Sheldon mostly thought about asking her on the sofa, one date night. After all, it was a simple ring, just a diamond on a band. But . . .

There was a French film festival of sorts coming up. He had seen the flyer on Amy's refrigerator at their last Date Night at her place. Their last happy Date Night. Amy loved French movies. He loved to watch Amy watching French movies. There was ad space for sale before each film as a fund raiser. He could film it in black and white, like a silent film. A placard in French, asking this question. Then him, bending down on one knee, opening the box. Maybe he'd wear a beret. On the big screen, for all to see. For Sheldon to watch her as she watched this particular French movie, as she realized exactly what she was watching.

It was not to be. The very next day, he called and reserved his spot immediately before _A Very Long Engagement_ because it was one of Amy's favorite books. But he couldn't get up the courage to do something so important so publicly. He never even casually mentioned the festival, not even on their next Date Night, and she didn't either. Of course, that was the night it all fell apart.

Well, he still had the space, he couldn't not get his money back now. And so, it was still a black placard, it was still in French. "Amy Farrah Fowler, tu me manque." Just in case she was there. For some reason he couldn't explain, he was certain she would be there.

When the day came, now in the midst of their very long absence, he spent the day in his room, alone. He told Leonard he was working. But, really, he read _A Very Long Engagement._ And fretted about what Amy's reaction would be, whether or not she would be offended at this intrusion into her requested privacy and space. The radio station hadn't messed it up, and yet, he never heard from her . . .

Page 198. The memory of their first kiss. "This new arrangement is so clearly superior to the old one that she wonders why she waited so long before trying it out, and as for him, even his ears have turned beet read, but she can tell he's not displeased."

He sighed deeply and closed the book, leaning back against his headboard. He couldn't bear to watch the words anymore.

And he waited for the phone call that never came.

To be continued . . .

* * *

 ** _Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Perhaps even what he thought was direct and obvious was too subtle. It seemed that outrageous needed to become his style, after all. Amy loved romance: over-the-top, fluffy, flowery romance. Like some ridiculous scene out of a romance novel. Probably even kissing in the rain. Sheldon had learned this from five years of watching her, of learning about her. It constantly surprised him when she or her female cronies accused him of not listening to her. Didn't she know he was listening to every word she said? Watching her reactions to every word he said? Cataloging her responses, reflecting on them later, sorting them out, attempting to learn what made her smile or what made her frown. But, yet, so many things were still a great mystery to him as so many of her reactions could be contradictory for no apparent logical reason. Why, for example, was it that talking about video game controllers while kissing her was acceptable, but talking about _The Flash_ between kisses was not?

Sheldon had gone so far as to walk over to Penny's apartment and ask her about it. That had been useless. The entirety of Penny's explanation, after a lot of superfluous words, had been "just because." She had admonished him that he was trying too hard to give Amy's thoughts and emotions an objective quantifier (obviously not Penny's words), whereas he should just accept that she was female and that females "like a little mystery."

And then, later, Leonard had come to him and asked that he please not discuss Amy with Penny anymore. It made Penny feel, according to Leonard, like she was stuck in the middle and having to choose sides. Choose sides? Were their sides? Wasn't Sheldon on Amy's side? Hadn't he always been on her side? Why did no one seem to know that?

Amy believed she deserved romance. And, at last, Sheldon was willing to admit she was right. His subtle hints, his failed mini-plans, were having no effect. Not one word had been said, not even a secret word slipped out by Penny or Bernadette by mistake, that indicated that Amy had noticed or discussed his gestures, even about his ad before the movie. What if she had chosen that exact moment to get more popcorn? A brief slight of hand was no longer enough, it seemed. He didn't want there to be any doubt that he was on her side. If she wanted over-the-top, he wanted to give her over-the-top, because he wanted to give her everything. But how?

* * *

"Oh, no, Amy loved it. While it lasted," Raj said.

Sheldon perked up and came back from the lonely mental land he had been inhabiting lately, and he looked across the cafeteria table at Raj.

"What?" he demanded. "What did Amy love?"

"Jesus, dude, you don't need to yell at me," Raj said.

"Really, Sheldon, if you want to zone out and be antisocial at lunch, that's fine. Actually, it's better than fine. I can digest in peace," Howard said. "But seriously, you can't do that and then scream to know what we're talking about."

"What did Amy love? While it lasted?" Sheldon demanded again, louder, ignoring Howard.

"Hey, calm down. We're not talking about you," Leonard said.

Sheldon opened his mouth and only a squeak came out. He honestly hadn't thought that. What if they had been talking about him? And Amy's love for him the past tense . . .

But Leonard knitted his brows together in that annoying way he had when he was worried about Sheldon. "Listen, buddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Raj was just talking about that escape room we went to a few months ago. We all enjoyed the scavenger hunt, we had a good time, but it only lasted a few minutes. That's all, I promise." His friend took a breath. "Apparently there's a new one, and it's supposed to be more difficult. He's trying to talk us into going. Do you want to come with us? All you do is hole up in your room or your office and work now."

Sheldon shook his head and looked back down at his lunch, and he resumed work on his mashed-potatoes-particle-collider model. Amy would probably want to go, because she enjoyed scavenger hunts so much. She often talked about how much fun she and Howard had on that one scavenger hunt they had done together, singing Neil Diamond songs in the car.

Just like that, the electrons impacted in Sheldon's brain.

* * *

It came in the mail on Thursday. The honest-to-God-old-fashioned-who-really-uses-this-anymore snail mail. Right between the Bed, Bath & Beyond circular and the Signals catalogue. A cream envelope. The address handwritten with obvious care. There was a bonafide Harry Potter Forever stamp in the corner. The sticky kind one went and bought at the actual post office, not just ran through the postage machine at work or printed at home.

Amy sucked her breath in and sat on her loveseat in something like shock. She ran her finger over the glossy stamp. Hermione Granger. The smartest girl in the class. The bookworm. The planner, the prepared one. The problem solver. The know-it-all. Her favorite character.

She felt the axis of her world shifting again as she debated whether or not to open it. She knew, somehow, this was a pivotal moment, this letter. Whatever it contained, it was the quantum break, the moment her world could slid in two very different directions. Apparently, Sheldon had been right for years; everything really did come down to physics in the end. There had been far too many of those moments lately. There was the second she could have bit her tongue and not interrupted him during their last FaceTime. There was every time she texted him, her fingers longing to type _I miss you_ at the end. There was the first Friday night after she told Sheldon she needed a break.

* * *

She hadn't sure she was still welcome or what the correct protocol would be, having never had a boyfriend to take a break from before; but Penny had preemptively texted her and told her to "be there or be square." And, more importantly - and coherently - not to worry, Penny would sit next to Sheldon.

Indeed, once Amy entered, her stomach clenching and her palms sweaty, Penny immediately moved from the island to sit by Sheldon, chatting breezily the whole way as though it were the most natural thing in the world, filling the awkward silence that Amy could feel lurking in the room. Amy sat gratefully in the brown wooden chair instead and returned Leonard's weak smile.

"Why are you sitting there?" Sheldon said sharply, swiveling his face to Penny's.

Her blonde friend used all her acting skills to pull off an almost believable surprised face. "This isn't your spot. And that wooden chair is uncomfortable. I don't know why I always get stuck with it. Why? Is this seat taken?"

That was it, another pivotal moment. Amy had sucked in her breath then, too, and she felt everyone in the room sit up a little straighter. She knew that if he said her name, if he told Penny it was Amy's spot, she would rush, she would run. Run back to her spot, run back to his side, run back into his life.

Finally, in the hush, Sheldon mumbled, shrugging softly, looking down at his food, "I guess if no one else wants to sit by me."

His blue eyes didn't even flick up, not even for a millisecond, to look at her. And she felt him sliding further away from her.

* * *

Back in the present, Amy bit her lip and took a deep breath. This was it. She was certain of that. This was the beginning of the end. Whatever that end might be. It could be the final conclusion of her foolish interruption, her foolish statement. It could be the final mockery of her stubbornness. There had been times - too much time in the past several weeks, hours of time she spent sobbing, days she spent hating herself - that she had longed to make things right. To correct her wrong.

But . . .

But what if she wasn't wrong? What if she was finally just being as strong as she should have been all along? Maybe in ten years she would look back and congratulate herself on making this difficult decision, in refusing to be Sheldon's doormat anymore. She would be proud that she had opened the envelope containing the Termination of the Relationship Agreement form and that she signed it.

But . . .

She loved him. She wished, as a scientific, articulate woman, that it was more complex and less emotional than that. She wished, ironically, that she could create some sort of flow chart or other diagram to explain, with perfect logic, why she wanted him back. That she realized she had been rash and foolish. That she had made a poor decision in an emotionally charged moment. That she regretted it. That she longed for his written word, a love letter, anything asking her to come back. Every single day. That it was called a break because it tore you apart, bone by bone.

Now or never.

She ran her finger under the flap and suddenly yelped. She pulled her finger away and thrust it into her mouth on sheer instinct. A paper cut. She looked down at the envelope, a tiny drop of crimson blood marring its perfect surface. That was it. Whatever it was, there was no turning back now. She had paid in blood.

Carefully, she finished lifting the flap. The envelope was lined in gold. The card inside was heavy, solid. Also cream. Also handwritten with obvious care. Not a Termination form. Not a form at all. A sound like a sob escaped Amy's throat, even though her eyes were dry.

 _Switzerland we come  
_ _A place of tepid water  
_ _HAL has approved_

Then, underneath, also handwritten:

 _Dies Saturni. Decem ante meridiem_.

The world slid again, but, for the first time, Amy felt like it was righting itself, that she was getting her equilibrium back. No, not a love letter. That would have been all wrong. But a haiku. Of course. Structured, ordered, ruled, precise. Just like him. A riddle. Of course. A mystery, more beneath the surface than mets the eye, depths that cannot be seen. Just like him. Latin. For her.

Amy murmured, "A neutral country . . . or place . . . that we both traveled to . . . there was tepid water . . . and sanctioned by . . . oh, that computer from _2001_!"

She put her hand up to her forehead, her mind spinning, her heart thumping. This was really happening.

Sheldon would be there on Saturday at ten o'clock. The coffee shop where they met, the one neither of them had frequented before that day, matched by a computer algorithm.

To be continued . . .

* * *

 ** _Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Sheldon wasn't there.

He wasn't there at 9:50 a.m., when Amy arrived early. She thought maybe ten minutes had been overkill. Maybe it made her look too eager. And yet she was disappointed he wasn't that eager, too. By 10:00 a.m., she was worried. Punctually was one of Sheldon's life pillars. But by 10:10, she was angry.

Here she was, being Sheldon's doormat once again! Here she was, paying with her time and her convenience - and, yes, her emotions - for his childish refusal to drive. Even after she taught him and offered to help him study for his test! Yes, he would come rushing in and half-way apologize by blaming it all on the bus being late. But it wouldn't be a real apology, would it? It would just be another thing that he would claim wasn't his fault. Then he would act surprised that Amy was angry. Because it was never his fault.

Brushing a tear from her eye, cursing herself, Amy turned to leave. There was her answer after all: it was the end. Except it came much faster than she had anticipated. She had been hoping for a deep conversation, some genuine apologies from both of them, a promise to try and move forward. But all she got was a reminder of what was wrong with her relationship. Her ex-relationship. Getting back into her car, slamming the door behind her, she looked over at the card she had left setting on the passenger's seat.

"Tepid water." She almost slapped her forehead, like some stereotypical fool. Not just a memory. An instruction.

She practically ran back inside and couldn't help but tap her foot impatiently as she waited while the person in line before her placed the longest coffee order known to mankind. Finally it was her turn. Her words came out in a tumble, "My name is Amy Farrah Fowler, and I need to order some tepid water right now, please."

The barista smiled and said, "Let me get that for you."

To Amy's dismay, she started to actually pour warm water in a cup. Amy's shoulders sagged. No, she was wrong. It wasn't a clue, after all. Then she noticed the barista opened and lowered two tea bags into the mug before handing it over. "Green tea and Lemon Zinger. Someone told me it's your favorite. And this is for you, too."

In her other hand was a cream envelope. Then the girl with the pink hair and eyebrow ring leaned across the counter and whispered, "I'm not supposed to say this, but this is _so_ romantic!"

"Um, yes. Thank you," Amy said, barely able to breathe as she took the envelope. So romantic? Sheldon? She wanted to open it right there, but she felt the eyes of the barista on her, amused and curious. She walked over to the furthest table instead, which was fortunately empty. Her hands were trembling as she opened it.

 _Phi phenomenon_  
 _The wrong color of shirt_  
 _Pitfall avoidance_

"Phi phenomenon. That's easy," Amy said mumbled to herself. "Perceiving continuous motion between separate objects viewed rapidly in succession . . . a movie or video game. So maybe something about a movie? But the wrong color of shirt?"

She tried to think of any time Sheldon had talked about shirt colors. Wait! What was that thing about _Star Trek_? Sheldon said he'd never get a _Star Trek_ costume in red because it meant he would die a painful death before his time. "Red!"

The man at the next table turned around to look at her. She tried to smile disarmingly, to reassure him she wasn't crazy, and she turned her body slightly away from him. Amy scrunched up her face in confusion. Pitfall avoidance? Obviously she knew what the words meant, their actual definition, but she didn't understand them in this context. This clue was more difficult than the previous.

Sighing, she took out her phone. The first hit on her search for "pitfall" was a Wikipedia article about an old Atari video game. That had to be it; maybe the very one the phi phenomenon was referencing. Her eyes hungrily read the article. "Along the way, he must negotiate numerous hazards, including pits, quicksand, rolling logs, fire, rattlesnakes, scorpions, and crocodiles. Harry may jump over or otherwise avoid these obstacles by climbing, running, or swinging on vines."

Vines! Red vines! It was a movie, not a video game. The next location was a movie theater! But which one? There were several on Colorado Boulevard alone, and they had gone together to all of them at some point. There had to be another meaning in this clue; had there been some other pitfall they had avoided? That had to do with a movie theater?

Suddenly, Amy threw her head back and laughed, not noticing or caring about the newest strange look she received. Sheldon was waiting at the movie theater where he asked her to be his girlfriend.

* * *

The theater was crowded as most of the first matinées of the day were about to start. One couldn't get in without a ticket. And there were too many people and free-standing posters and displays to makes out the concession stand from the front door. Amy waited in line and walked up to the counter when it was her turn.

"Ma'am?" the cashier asked.

Amy jumped. "Uh . . . whatever starts next, I guess." There were no movie titles that fit with the clue. But she had to get into the theater.

"Do you have a Regency Rewards card?"

"Huh? Oh, yes." Amy dug around in her wallet, feeling like she was wasting precious time. She knew Sheldon was right there, just a few yards away, waiting for her at the concession stand.

"Here you go. Theater eight on your right."

She took the paper ticket, mumbled "Thanks," and almost ran to the concession stand.

He wasn't there.

Looking down at the card, in her hand, Amy reread it. So she needed to order something again it seemed. She waited in line. "My name is Amy Farrah Fowler, and I need Red Vines!"

"Okaay," the cashier said, her tone implying Amy was a crazy woman.

"Wait, did you say Amy Fowler?" a teenage boy behind the cashier asked.

"Yes, yes!" she yelled.

"Here you go, Junior Mints," he said cheerfully, handing her the package of her favorite movie candy and another cream envelope.

"But she ordered Red Vines! And never paid . . ." the first cashier protested as Amy walked away. She didn't hear the rest of the exchange, the only sound left was the blood rushing through her ears as she ran out to her car. She didn't want strangers staring at her again. Once inside, she opened the envelope.

 _A fertile valley_  
 _Monohydrogen oxide_  
 _Sugar conversion_

Amy let out a deep breath. This was the most complex clue yet. She bit her lip.

"Okay," she said, talking to herself, "think it through, one step at a time. A fertile valley could be . . . anywhere. I'll come back to it. Monohydrogen oxide?" She shook her head. Monohydrogen oxide was a misnomer, she knew. Non-scientific persons were always getting it confused with dihydrogen monoxide, which was basic water. Sheldon knew that too. So what was he telling her? She decided to break it down into its simplest form. The chemical formula for monohydrogen oxide would be HO. "Something about Christmas? The picture of him on Santa's lap?"

Wary of what she would find, she typed HO into her search engine. After the pictures of chocolate cream swirl cakes, scantily dressed woman, and, yes, Santa Claus, she decided to go to Wikipedia's list of acronyms. The very first one made her smile. "HO or H0 is the most popular scale of model railway in the world."

"So, it's a train or railroad. Sugar conversion . . . well, there's how our bodies convert sugar into glucose . . . or something simpler? like how how many tablespoons in a cup?" Amy shook her head. No, Sheldon wouldn't reference cooking. She thought briefly about maple syrup and his favorite breakfast food, French toast. But that wasn't really a conversation, as maple sap was already a form of sugar. There was alcohol, that was a conversion of sugar, but Sheldon didn't drink. He hated wine, he always made fun of Penny for drinking it, he complained it burned, no, not wine -

"The wine train!" Amy screamed in her car. That had to be it! And it was Napa Valley! While it wasn't technically their first kiss, these were Sheldon's memories, not hers. It was Sheldon's first kiss. The first he had initiated, the first he had enjoyed, the first he had lengthened and lingered over. The Napa Valley wine train was the next location.

Amy twisted her lips, the new clue in her hands. Surely he didn't expect her to go all the way to Napa Valley again. She would, she knew. Maybe that was it, maybe this was some sort of test? Yet, somehow, she didn't think it was. Sheldon knew, didn't he?, how much she loved him? He didn't need her to drive or fly all over California to prove that to him, did he? She frowned. If he did, then she had been even more hurtful than she thought. Based on the way her chest hurt every night, when she tried to sleep, like someone was sitting on it, she couldn't imagine a worse pain.

Oh model railway scales! That was it! It wasn't the actual wine train, it was a smaller version, a model! Yes!

"Oh, crap, " she groaned. Why didn't she listen more closely when Sheldon talked about trains? Why did the very mention of them always make her eyes glaze over? She didn't know anything about the actual train that night, she had been so angry at him for spouting all those facts with his weird little friend, and then suddenly he kissed her and all the facts and weird little friends in the world flew out of her mind. She searched her memory for any and everything Sheldon had ever said about model trains. Struck by a cast off sentence she vaguely recalled, she looked back at her phone and searched for model train stores. Where was that one . . . .? She studied each red dot on the map in turn. Then she took a deep, determined breath, set her phone and the clue on the seat beside her, and drove to what she thought just might be the most promising location.

* * *

The bell chimed as she entered. Good, it wasn't that crowded. This time, she wasn't expecting Sheldon. She aimlessly walked up one aisle and down another, but Amy was completely unsure for what she should be looking. Obviously there wasn't just a Napa Valley wine train set. She walked up the counter.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes?" the clerk asked.

"Um, I think this might be unusual, but I'm looking for something related to the Napa Valley wine train." Amy felt her cheeks glowing red. What if she was in the wrong store or had the clue completely wrong? This person would think she was a lunatic.

"Could you be more specific?" the gentleman asked. He was middle-aged, rather doughy around the middle, and his eyes were kind. At least he wasn't a teenager, like the last two employees had been, making Amy feel old and awkward with their youth and coolness.

"There's a wine train in Napa Valley and it's a really old train and -" she paused and took a deep breath - "I don't suppose the name Amy Farrah Fowler means something to you?"

The clerk smiled. He reached under the counter and passed over a tiny train car and another cream envelope. Amy felt like she could have thrown her arms around him if the counter hadn't been in the way. "An HO gauge Silverado Trail Dining Car. It is one of the 1915 Pullmans that came from the Denver Rio Grande, originally built for the Northern Pacific Railway. Now used in the Napa Valley wine train. Not the locomotive, oddly."

"No," Amy breathed out softly, taking the little toy in her hand. "The dining car is perfect. Thank you. Do I owe you anything for it?"

He shook his head. "No, it's already been paid for."

"Thank you." Amy turned to leave.

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

"Dr. Cooper is a regular customer here. He's never bought a train car for anyone else. Take care of it."

Tears prickled at Amy's eyes. She just nodded and left, returning to her car, hoping the kind man wasn't watching her as she started to cry. The whole thing was so overwhelming. Sheldon had never bought a train car for anyone else. Sheldon had never, she felt confident, put together a scavenger hunt of memories for anyone else. Sheldon had never . . . loved anyone else as he loved her. She tore at this envelope, no longer caring about keeping them pristine.

 _It makes you happy_  
 _Mammals you love - I'll be there_  
 _awaiting the same_

This haiku was different, this haiku was the closest Sheldon would ever get to a love poem. And it was love; he would be there waiting, at the zoo, for her love. For happiness.

A sob came out. An ugly, choking sob. What a fool she had been! There was something worse than her pain; there was Sheldon's. All because of her stupid plan, and then her stupid pride! What she wouldn't give to go back in time and change those twenty-four hours.

* * *

"Irony's not really my strong suit," Sheldon said. "but I have been getting better with sarcasm, if you want to give that a try."

Amy felt herself growing hot. She just could not believe the gall of this man! She threw her arms up in disbelief. "Oh, sure I'd love to."

Sheldon paused and then waved at her. "Whenever you're ready."

First her eyebrows went down, and then she shook her head slightly. "You know what, never mind. I cannot spend the next five years of my life explaining this to you. In fact, I don't even want to spend the next five minutes explaining this to you."

"Was that sarcasm? Because I don't get it," Sheldon asked, his face clearly innocent.

"Obviously you don't get it. You never get it. You've never gotten it, and now I'm worried you never will." Amy stomped away from him and grabbed her purse.

"Wait, Amy. Are you leaving?" Sheldon called out as she opened the apartment door. "I get it. Our five years have gone by in a flash, not _The_ Flash. I get it now!"

She ran down the stairs, yelling behind her as she heard his own footfalls. "Don't follow me, Sheldon. Leave me alone. Just go and watch your stupid TV show."

Amy didn't remember that Sheldon had respected her wishes. That his steps stopped abruptly on the stairs. That he hadn't attempted to follow her. Or disagree further with her. That he had left her alone. Exactly for what she asked.

She didn't even remember the drive home or slamming the door of her own apartment or ignoring the text from Sheldon. All she was aware of by the time she got home was the aching tugging of her lower abdomen and her need to urinate. She pulled down her underwear and sat on the toilet.

There is was, the stain she knew was coming. Despite that, she couldn't help but stare at it. A blush of red on her underwear, the irrefutable proof that she was a woman. A woman that was not pregnant. A woman that would probably never be pregnant. A woman that had foolishly made a five-year plan, complete with picket fences and blue-eyed children. A woman that was in love with a mere boy, not a man.

And all Sheldon could think about was his stupid television viewing habits! Who was she kidding? He was never, ever going to father her child. He was never, ever going to marry her. It was probably unlikely he would ever find his way to second base. Five years today. Five years of her life gone. Her five year plan down the drain, flushed away just as her body was flushing away this useless part it would never need. And now it was too late to find someone else, she didn't have five more years to give.

She put her elbows down on her thighs and sobbed. The worst part was she didn't want someone else. Her uterus, and her life, were high-rent spaces, and she knew that only Sheldon had the correct currency.

She wanted Sheldon to want her.

That night, Amy hadn't slept well. Her mind couldn't find peace after the argument, and her body couldn't find peace as it struggled with this necessary biological function. She woke up late, after finally falling asleep, her legs pulled up around the cramping, and, curses!, her nightgown stained.

Maybe she should call him to apologize. Apparently all his concerns about cranky, moody uterus stuff had a basis in fact. But how like him to even phrase it that way, to reduce her brilliance down to some sort of sexist hormonally-induced temporary insanity! It was insulting. As Amy stripped the bed, she osculated widely between wanting to make it right with Sheldon and fear that it would never be right with Sheldon.

She brooded. She took pain relievers and heated up her hot water bottle and sat on the sofa in a clean nightgown, eating ice cream directly out of the pint, and she brooded. She watched some horrible Nicholas Sparks movie on television. Kissing in the rain! That was so unreal, such a cliché! As if that would ever happen to anyone, let alone her! It was over-the-top, fluffy, flowery romance, a ridiculous scene out of a ridiculous movie based on a ridiculous romance novel. The more she thought and watched and ate and felt ill, physically and emotionally, the more it became Sheldon's fault. She seethed without really knowing why, and her fear and anger tumbled and snowballed until they became larger than her reason.

By the time she told him she needed a break, she believed it. But each day for eight and half weeks, she had believed it less. And, yet, each day for eight and half weeks, she didn't know how to tell him she was wrong.

* * *

Amy almost ran to the koala enclosure, her chunky loafers thudding against the pavement as she weaved around families. This clue was final; it said, without a doubt, that he would be there. It had been almost four hours now. Four hours and eight and half weeks. Without Sheldon. But not anymore. He would be there, he would be waiting. Probably not with open arms, because he was Sheldon, but Amy didn't care. She would run toward him and wrap her arms around his skinny waist, and burrow her face into his chest, almost kissing his heart if she could. She would tell him how much she loved him. She would tell him how wrong she was.

She could barely breathe as she opened the door. "Excusemeexcusemeexcuseme" came out in a constant, single word as she ducked and dodged her way through. He would be there. Not here at the beginning, but in the very center, surrounded by koalas. So not in the center, but near the one large male he especially loved. No, not there; it was probably too crowded. He would be at the end, where there were less people as they got tired of koalas and were eager to move on to their next destination. He would be there.

Amy's feet ground to a halt, and her eyes darted around the almost empty space. She swung in circles wildly, extending her arms, her breath heaving.

Sheldon wasn't there.

To be continued . . .

* * *

 ** _As always, thank you in advance for your reviews!_**

 ** _A special thank you to YlvaBorealis and her story, A Turn of Events, that fully opened my eyes to possibility that Amy's biological clock could perhaps be the reasoning for her break with Sheldon. As I am almost exclusively a writer and not a reader, I am not aware of the titles of other stories that use this idea but it is my understanding there are several others out there. So, thank you to those writers, whoever you may be, for the same thought._**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

It had all been for naught. Amy had received the clues; Sheldon had received confirmation texts from each of the strangers he had paid to help him and from Jim at the model train store, who refused to take any money. Although his general faith in humanity was fortified that these people had not just taken his money without completing their assigned task, it seemed that even the most romantic thing he could think to do to win Amy back had not worked. It finally was over - really and truly this time.

The last haiku was supposed to lead her here, to the monkey enclosure at the zoo. He was waiting for her, the ring firmly in his pocket, his heart firmly pounding in his chest. He had calculated exactly when she should arrive, how long the drive would take. But, as each minute ticked by, and he looked up the traffic app on his phone to confirm there were no infamous L.A. traffic jams, his shoulders fell further. Amy wasn't coming. He waited longer, sitting on the bench in the middle of the enclosure, not even worried about flying feces as he normally was when he agreed to visit here with her.

Amy wasn't coming. Ever. His intelligent, beautiful Amy. She was gone. And it was all his own fault. He had done too little, too late. Sighing deeply after waiting over an hour, Sheldon got up and plodded toward the swinging door. Even the sky was sad; dark clouds had moved in, reflecting his mood. He reached in his pocket for the ring box and his hand hovered over the trash can for a moment. Maybe he should throw it away here, now. But he didn't have the heart, not just yet. He put the ring back in his pocket.

The zoo was much quieter than when he arrived. He looked up at the sky. Maybe it was the ominous looking clouds driving people away. Without even realizing it, his feet carried him not directly to the exit, as he planned, but he veered toward the koala enclosure. He only noticed where he was when he felt a drop of water on his wrist. He stopped and looked down at the offending portent of rain, and then up to the the beautiful eucalyptus filled space. Although he doubted anything would ever help, it couldn't hurt to watch the koalas, could it? Since he was here anyway. About to reach out and open the door, it suddenly thrust open, swinging toward him. He jumped back, just outside the building's overhang.

And his heart stopped.

It was Amy. Amy, his intelligent, beautiful Amy. They stood and stared at each other, Amy letting the door fall with a loud whack behind her.

"You were supposed to be at the monkey enclosure an hour ago," Sheldon finally said. He realized, too late, that it sounded like an accusation.

"Your clue said the place that makes you happy," Amy shot back, her voice equally harsh.

"Yes, you - as in the reader. It was in second person. You ought to know that. You scored a perfect 800 on the language portion of your SATs."

"Oh, right, you've never made a rash decision in an emotionally charged moment that resulted in a mistake," Amy said.

"Well, at least my rash decision didn't leave you hanging for eight and half weeks!"

"At least I had the decency to tell you I was taking a break and not just leave for weeks without saying good-bye!"

Sheldon wasn't sure, exactly, how they had gotten from a misread haiku - however atypical it was for Amy - to their greatest missteps. At least his; maybe Amy didn't think her actions were a misstep. He wanted to ask, he needed to know, if she regretted the past two months or if the silence, the unbearable silence, was what she had wanted all along. But he seemed unable to form the words. Perhaps he was too afraid of her response.

Before he could work up the courage to ask, Amy crossed her arms. "So you send me running around the city all day just to berate me for my reading comprehension skills?"

"Yes. No! It was scavenger hunt," he voice had faded as he spoke. "It was supposed to be romantic. Because you want romance -"

"Because I deserve romance!"

"But you don't listen! This is just like you, to interrupt me, to jump conclusions without letting me explain -"

"I let you explain things all the time! I ask you questions and you answer them. Your problem is that you talk too much, you just talk and talk and don't think about if your words hurt -"

"When did my words ever hurt you?"

"Oh, well, just to mention the most recent example, when you said you were wrestling with a commitment issue and you never thought about how it sounded to me! That all I've wanted from you for years is for you to just _think_ about stepping into the gym to consider wrestling with the idea of committing to me, but -"

Sheldon snapped backwards. "Amy, why would I need to think about that now, when I'm so obviously already committed to you?"

Amy glared at him a minute, and he couldn't tell if she was still angry. At least when she spoke, she wasn't yelling any more. "You're obviously already committed to me? When? How? I'm sorry, but it's not obvious to me."

He sighed, and lifted up his hands to tick the points off on his fingers. "I love you. I have declared that to your and our friends. I trust you and I have kept the secrets you entrusted to me. You're more like me than anyone else I've ever met. I enjoy your company and miss you when you're gone. I find we're very compatible. I told my mother you're the one. I enjoy being physical with you, and I have discovered that I want more. And I love you . . . if that's not commitment, I don't know what is. So why would I question my commitment to you at all, let alone while I'm kissing you, while I'm enjoying kissing you! If that's not your definition of commitment, then maybe you're right and we should break up."

At that exact moment, it started to rain. Not just the occasional sprinkle that had been coming down, but a steady patter. Of course it would rain today, right now; after months and months of drought, even the skies over California were releasing their pent-up emotions. Sheldon stood his ground, though, just beyond the protection of the overhang that Amy enjoyed. He had not planned on what he had just said, but he knew with certainly it was true. He could not be more committed to Amy; after all, he had told his mother that he had decided to marry her. It would break his heart if the past few weeks had just been a prelude to the loneliness he would feel the rest of his life without her. But he couldn't fix this relationship by himself. She had to meet him halfway - they were either both outside in the rain together or they were both under the overhang together. As much as it pained him, if his type of commitment was not what she wanted out of her life, then it wasn't the loving thing to do to ask her to stay with him, unsatisfied, getting wet.

"Why didn't you tell me this weeks ago? When I told you I needed a break," Amy asked softly.

"Because you said you needed a break. To think. You told me to leave you alone, not to follow you. I respect you enough to let you have that. I understand what it feels like to be overwhelmed and need to go away alone," he said equally softly. Then he looked up at the sky. The rain was getting heavier. But he wouldn't leave her until she asked him to. He looked back at her. "And you interrupted me."

"You're always interrupting me," Amy said.

"Well, you're not perfect either. You're stubborn and sarcastic when you know I struggle with that and you always want more -"

"It's not a crime to want more with the man you love; it's natural. And you're egotistical and childish."

"I probably am. Just because I'm the closest to perfection that genetics has yet to create, does not mean I've achieved it. Just give me time."

"You always need more time! More time before you'll be my boyfriend, more time before you'll hold my hand, more time before you'll kiss me, more time before you'll move in with me -" Amy's voice was rising again.

"What's wrong with that? At least I want all of that time with you!" Sheldon yelled.

Amy opened her mouth and shut it. She still had her arms crossed, but he noticed she was toying with the side seam of her cardigan. He needed to calm down, he was being too harsh.

"Is that why you wanted a break? Because of time?" Sheldon asked softly. "I thought things were good between us these past few months. I thought you were happy."

Amy shrugged softly, looking deflated. "They were. I was. I just - I -" She took a deep breath. "It was about time. I had a five year plan, okay? Mock me if you want, but it's true. And it's been five years. It was our anniversary, and I thought it was going so well, but then all you could think about was _The Flash_. I thought maybe five years meant nothing to you, I thought I was being stupid and blinded by love. I realized how silly and immature a five year plan was. I went home angry and I just couldn't stop thinking about it. Five years. Gone. With nothing to show for it."

Sheldon closed his eyes. "Am I really nothing to you? You have _me_ to show for it." He stabbed his chest with a finger to make his point as he opened his eyes again. He stared at Amy through the rain, but she just looked back at him. Not angry, he thought, but he wasn't sure. "And as for _The Flash_ . . . sometimes when we're kissing, I have to think about other things, otherwise . . . And I don't want it to happen that way, unplanned and rushed. You deserve better."

She uncrossed her arms and he thought he heard her make a sound. A sound of surprise or something else he could not be certain, not in the rain.

"Sheldon, you'll never be nothing to me. I love you. I won't interrupt you now. Tell me what you want to say. All we have is time."

"I have a lot to say. Most of it brilliant, as you might expect."

"Come on, we should go somewhere else to talk." Amy started to turn.

"No."

"No?" she turned back around, her eyebrows raised.

"I'm not moving until I've said it." He didn't really understand his own determination, especially as he was getting quite uncomfortable standing in the rain like this. But he had a plan! He had things to say! And here was Amy, being all 'let's do it my way' again!

"But you're standing in the rain, getting wet," Amy said. "And, as I've already pointed out, you like to hear yourself talk."

"Of course it's raining. Of course I'm getting wet. Everything else has gone wrong, so why not the weather? The flowers, the chocolate, the song dedication, the personal advertisement during your French movie, everything -"

"Sheldon, what are you talking about? What flowers? What song?" Amy furrowed her brow.

"See! you say you won't interrupt me, but you just can't help yourself! Well, I'm just going to keep talking. Where was I?" He was yelling again, and he didn't care anymore. "Oh, right. Apparently I don't deserve you, because I just can't do anything correctly, not the way you want it -"

"Don't say that! That's not helpful or constructive right now!"

But he continued, as though he had never heard her speak. He didn't care how uncomfortable and cold he was, he didn't care how dry she looked under the overhang, he didn't care how much her soft pink lips trembled or her beautiful green eyes flared at him, he had things to say! He had been waiting eight and half weeks to say them! "- I mean, I planned this elaborate scavenger hunt of all our happy memories and I can't even make a simple haiku clear. And now it's raining. How am I supposed to propose to you in the monkey enclosure now? -"

"What?" Amy gasped.

He ran his hand through his hair, trying to throw water off his face, but it was useless. Rain was obscuring his view of Amy, but he thought he heard her voice tremble. He quieted his own voice, all the anger gone. "It's all my fault. I love you so much, and I wanted it to be perfect. I've had the ring for weeks, ever since my mother came. But I kept waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect way. I waited too long. Even now, it's not perfect. My last clue wasn't good enough. I don't know why I ever thought I could write hippy-dippy love poetry. I wanted to ask you to marry me in your favorite place -"

"What?" Amy whimpered.

* * *

"What?" Amy whimpered, her chest feeling tight, her head feeling light. Sheldon was going to propose to her? And not as a last resort; he said he'd had the ring since his mother came to visit. And here he was, so determined to see his plan through - always with his schedules and his plans! - that he would probably catch his death standing in the rain just to propose to her at the zoo. To propose to her.

"- and, because you'd certainly want all the details, I thought we could sit down on the bench there and have a conversation to plan them together. The wedding, the lengthy honeymoon -"

"The _lengthy_ honeymoon?"

"You think I don't want to make love to you, but that's not true. Sometimes, when I kiss you, it's all I can think about. What you take for inhibition of physical displays of affections is really fear. Not of you, but for me. I'm frightened I won't do it correctly, and you won't enjoy it. Quite frankly, it all sounds athletic and we both know I'm not -"

"Make love?" Amy mouthed, her voice lost in a crack of thunder. Rain was pouring off the roof of the koala enclosure now, practically forming a sheet between her and Sheldon.

"- good at any sporting activity. So I thought we could do it slowly, lock ourselves in our hotel room for at least two weeks, only opening the door for room service to keep up our strength. And get clean sheets. Really a honeymoon is the only socially acceptable time to do that. Not to mention what our mothers would say. We could practice foreplay together, a little more everyday, until we finally enjoy ourselves in the carnal fashion. We could experiment and I could learn all your responses to various sexual stimuli including various coital positions -"

"Yes."

"I knew you'd like it as an experiment. What is your opinion on the time frame? Two weeks seems a minimum, but if we decide on a six week honeymoon, I'll have to ask for a leave. But I have enough hours for four weeks right now -"

"Yes."

"Four weeks. Yes, the mean amount of the time is probably best. I don't know if we should go back to the bed and breakfast in Napa Valley or if we should try somewhere bigger, with thicker walls. Since everything will be so new to us and we'll need the afore mentioned 24-hour room service —"

"Yes."

"Somewhere new? We'll have to research the options, the most romantic cities with an Amtrak station; I know we won't leave the room, but a good view would be nice. When should we get started? How long does it take to plan a wedding? Let's not use Leonard and Penny's example. There's a episode of Star Trek, season 3, episode 3, 'The Paradise Syndrome,' in which Miramanee tells Kirk 'The sooner our happiness together begins, the longer it will last,' which always sounded like an unfortunate overly emotional side effect of his amnesia to me before, but now I understand -"

"Yes."

"Well, of course you understand it, you're all about girly emotions. And where will we live? If only Leonard would finally move out. I could move in with you, but my apartment is bigger. I know you want a house someday but perhaps we should arrange a joint savings account and each of us should contribute the same percentage of our paychecks -"

"Yes."

The rain was pouring down Sheldon's face now, dripping off of his nose. He didn't really seem to mind, and he fluttered his hand occasionally. Amy had never seen him quite like this, this almost stream of conscious dialogue, this jumping from one point to another. "I knew you'd agree to that immediately, as it's the most logical solution. But we'd have to consider all the costs associated with a house. Like a landscaping service. You may want to do some flowers yourself, but I thought, given our busy careers, a lawn mowing -"

"Yes."

Sheldon nodded, and that sent a few drops of rain flying toward Amy. "A gardner it is. And we have to talk about children and the most effective birth control options. Do we want multiple children or just one? Of course, our ages are an issue. If we had just one -"

"Yes."

"Yes, one. I think so, too. Our perfect _homo novus_ to mold and perfect _._ But first I need to get my drivers license. It is completely unsafe for a woman in the throes of labor to be driving herself to the hospital -"

"Yes."

"I know, I know, you've been telling me to get my license forever. I was also thinking -"

As he had been saying the last sentence, Amy stepped forward, out from under the overhang, and the chill of the waterfall of rain struck her. She didn't notice; she just knew she had to make the next move, she had to meet him half-way, even if it meant they were both in the rain together. She reached up and took Sheldon's face in her hands, one palm on each cheek. "Sheldon, shut up."

"But I told you I have a lot to say. And you're interrupting again!"

"Yes."

"Well, if you know that, then why -"

"Yes, I'll marry you."

He finally stopped then, his eyes widening with realization. "You will? Even though you thought this was all wrong? Even though I didn't ask you properly? Even though it wasn't perfect?"

"Yes."

"Wait." He dropped away from her, down on one knee into a deep puddle that splashed rain upwards onto her tights. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small black box. Amy let out a squeak as he opened it, displaying the ring. "Amy Farrah Fowler, will you do me the honor and the pleasure of agreeing to marry me?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she whispered, tears running down her face now, indistinguishable from the rain that was already soaking though her cardigan. Not that she noticed or cared. Her hand trembled as Sheldon slipped the ring down her wet finger. It fit perfectly. Of course it would, she realized. He had been silently measuring her fingers every time he held her hand for years.

Then he was standing again, taking her face in his hands this time, his lips on hers, his mouth over hers, all the hunger she had known for five years reflected in this kiss. She raised her eyebrows in surprise when his tongue found its way to hers, but she welcomed it. He was kissing her as though he was never going to let her go again. She returned it, knowing she would never want to.

It was unreal. It was a cliché. It was over-the-top, fluffy, flowery romance. Like some ridiculous scene out of a romance novel. They were even kissing in the rain. It was perfect.

To be continued . . .

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 _ **Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

In the movies, the kiss in the rain was almost always the end. Or maybe not; maybe the two lovers ran back to the impossibly romantic cabin laughing and made soft love in front of a magically roaring fireplace, the heroine still perfectly coiffed, her mascara as dry as the second she had applied it. It was happily ever after.

In reality, Sheldon groused about the water in his shoes, and how they made an annoying squeak when he walked now. He complained all the way to the car about the stain on his knee, because it wasn't just a rain puddle he'd knelt down to propose in, it was apparently a mud puddle. Neither of them had an umbrella. Amy dreaded what all this water would do to her seats, how her car would smell the next day. She could hardly see out of her glasses because of the water spots, and there was nothing with which to dry them. She reached around her waist, pulling out the bottom of her undershirt which was at least only partially damp, but all that did was smear the water on her lenses. Traffic moved slowly in the downpour. They didn't speak; Amy had to concentrate very hard on driving in a blur. Besides, she didn't know what to say. Shouldn't their first conversation as an engaged couple be profound? They weren't even sitting on the bench planning all the details of their future together, as Sheldon had expected.

Instead, after only awkward silence and the sound of windshield wipers, Sheldon suddenly asked, "Where are we going? My apartment is back that way."

"I know," Amy sighed. "We're going to my apartment. Are you saying you'd rather have your brand new fiancée - _fiancée_ \- drop you off so you can spend your evening watching some science fiction movie with your roommate?"

"It wouldn't be just some science fiction movie. The _Ex Machina_ Blu-ray arrived from Netflix yesterday." Amy opened her mouth to say something, but then Sheldon continued, "But, no, I want to be with you. I don't suppose you have _Ex Machina_ at home, do you? Then we could tell our child that it's the first movie we watched as an engaged couple." Then she saw him shrug softly in the passenger seat, before he said quietly, "Huh, my fiancée. I have a fiancée. My ideal mate."

Amy didn't answer. The whole exchange has been so typical, she wasn't even surprised. This was the Sheldon she loved, the Sheldon she was marrying, the Sheldon she really didn't want to change: completely unaware that he was ruining a potentially magical moment with something mundane, but then saving it at the last possible second by saying something sweet.

They didn't speak the rest of the way, but Amy gradually relaxed. So maybe they would never have romantic conversations, but she felt with certainty that they would never allow things to be unsaid between them again. It had all been a mistake, and then she was too proud or stubborn - yes, Sheldon was right - to rectify it as soon as she should have. They still had important things to talk about, she knew that; tomorrow, maybe, or later tonight, she would make tea and they could sit down and have a lengthy and overdue conversation. She had hurt him deeply, she knew. Maybe she'd been oblivious to not realize how much; but the look on his face when he said "You have _me_ to show for it!" would haunt her for the rest of her life. And sometimes Sheldon hurt her, too. But she wasn't afraid anymore. They would discuss and fix and plan and move forward together. They would be better, happier people for it.

No sooner had they entered Amy's apartment, dripping water all the way up the stairs of her building, then Sheldon shivered violently. "Amy, can we turn the heat up?"

"Sheldon, you've got to take off those wet clothes and get warm. You need a hot shower and something dry to wear." Amy's brow furrowed in concern. She set aside her bag, noticing that the leather was probably ruined.

"But I don't have any dry clothes here."

"Wait right here," Amy said and ran into her bedroom. She stood on her tiptoes to reach into the top of the closet and took down a bag. "Here," she said, returning to the living room, "if I had known I would have wrapped them."

"A gift?"

Amy shrugged. "Think of it as a necessity. Or because of how much you admire my preparedness."

He nodded and took the plastic sack, opening it to pull out a tee shirt printed with what appeared to be a brown blazer, a white pinstriped dress shirt, and a red bow tie. "An Eleventh Doctor tee shirt?"

"Not just a tee shirt," Amy said, reaching into the bag herself to pull out a pair of dark brown cotton pants with a draw-string waist. " _Doctor Who_ pajamas!"

"Amy," Sheldon said, softly but firmly, "was this a plan to get me into your bedroom again?"

She chuckled. "I thought, maybe, that some day we could have sleepover here. Besides, you just told me you want to be in my bedroom. Think of it as the TARDIS, if it helps."

"I was talking about our honeymoon. And there are no beds with quilts on them in the TARDIS," Sheldon said.

"How do you know? We've never seen the bedroom."

Cocking his head, Sheldon looked at her. Then he blinked, slowly, and said, "I still think it's unlikely, but you make a valid point. It cannot be ruled out. But why would I put on pajamas now? It's only four o'clock."

"It's the only dry clothes I have for you to wear. Unless you want to try something of mine; I do have an old gray sweatsuit somewhere, I think. But I can't imagine it fitting you. And I need to change out of my wet clothes, too." Then she took a very deep breath. "Sheldon, will you sleep here tonight? Another sleepover? In my bed? I'd like it very much. I don't want you to go home tonight." She looked down at her ring, almost surprised to find it there. "I'd like it to be a special night."

Amy looked back up, hopefully, and Sheldon nodded. "Very well. I'll put on the pajamas." Before she could ask if that meant he was staying the night or not, he whispered, "I'd like sleeping in your bed tonight very much, too, I think."

Blushing, he turned quickly, clutching the new pajamas, and walked toward the bathroom. Amy was too stunned to follow.

Once she heard the shower running, Amy went to her bedroom and changed into a clean nightgown, getting a towel out of the linen closet to run through her hair to dry it the best she could. She was sitting on the end of her bed, wrapped in her pink robe, when he entered. She wonder if he would think it was too odd, both of them in their pajamas in the late afternoon. He might want to eat. But Amy was tired, so very tired. Good tired, though, knowing that she would finally sleep peacefully after weeks of fitful dreams.

"I'm not sure I used the correct towel. I used one folded over the rack. It smelled clean. And I hung my wet clothes over the shower rod," Sheldon said.

She smiled at him, looking shy and unsure of himself, his new pajamas too short on his long legs. "It was. I changed out the towels this morning. And your clothes are fine. We'll wash them tomorrow."

"Amy?" he whispered.

"Yes?"

"I'm, um, not sure this a good idea."

Amy's heart deflated and her anger flared again, exhaustion only making it worse. Why? Why again? Why now? "Why?" she snapped.

Sheldon looked up quickly, startled, his eyebrows raised. "It seems that, based on your attire, you want to start the sleepover immediately. But if we fall asleep now, that is highly likely to disturb our REM cycles."

"Fine," Amy said, waving her hand, "we don't have to have a sleepover. I just wanted to rest next to you and finally sleep for a few uninterrupted hours and I thought you wanted the same thing and -"

Putting his hands out, Sheldon stopped closer. "No, don't be angry. I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. I want to have a sleepover, Amy, I do. It's just that . . . well, if you must know, even my underpants were wet. I didn't want to risk chafing by putting them back on."

Just as rapidly as all her other emotions had been today, Amy burst out laughing, her anger gone as quickly and unexplainably as it had come. "Sheldon, are you telling me you're going commando?"

"Amy, it's not funny! You'll be lying right next to me! It happens even in my sleep and when I wake up. And these pants are very thin. What if . . . " His voice trailed off.

"Sheldon," she said, "I'm a biologist, I am fully aware of how it works." Then she lowered her voice, "Please, come over here and sit by me."

Timid, Sheldon padded over and sat down next to her. "It's okay, Sheldon, I was only planning on a G-rated sleepover. I promise." She took a deep breath. "But, I need to know. Were you serious earlier? What you said about our honeymoon?"

"Of course. When do I ever say anything other than what I mean? What would the point be in that?" Then he reached up and barely ran his fingertips through the edges of her damp hair. "I'll need your help. And your patience. I want to learn it slowly. To savor it."

Amy swallowed hard. Sheldon wanted to savor it. "I want to savor you, too," she whispered.

"That's not exactly what I said," he whispered, bringing his face closer.

"It's exactly what I meant." She leaned nearer to him.

"Me, too," he breathed into his kiss. This was nothing like the wild, passionate, sloppy, wet kiss at the zoo. It was soft and gentle, sweet and slow, like all of their kisses had been before today. After a moment of tender bliss, Sheldon pulled away, but leaned his forehead against hers. "Amy, why do you love the book _A Very Long Engagement_?"

"Uh, well, because it's about the power of true love triumphing in the end. The things we do, the efforts we make for the one we love. That true love cannot be lost to time," she said, surprised by the question.

"So you don't actually want a very long engagement, do you? I don't. I meant what I said at the zoo about that, too."

Amy giggled. "No, Sheldon, I don't. 'The sooner our happiness together begins, the longer it will last.'" She gave him a quick peck on his lips, still so tantalizingly close to hers. "Come on, let's lie down. At least for a nap. Please? I'm exhausted. It's been an emotionally draining day. A G-rated nap, I swear."

* * *

He stretched out slowly, unsure of his place in this strange bed, in this new world in which he found himself. After shutting the blinds, lending the bedroom a strange, dim light in the middle of a rainy afternoon, Amy took off her glasses and crawled in next to him, pulling the blankets over them. She immediately curled up, into the crook of his arm that he didn't realize he'd left open for her.

On their first, and only previous, sleepover, Sheldon had woken in the middle of the night to find Amy curled up like this, the top of her head lightly resting on his chest. For the second time, he was struck by how small and fragile she seemed when she slept, how despite her waking strength she seemed to want his protection. Then her left hand came up to rest on his chest, almost caressing it, which was new.

"Is this okay?" Amy asked softly.

Sheldon nodded and reached with his own hand to cover hers. The sharp edges of her new ring bite into his palm, so he slipped his fingers under hers, instead, and found himself gently playing with the diamond. Amy was wearing an engagement ring. His engagement ring.

Overwhelmed with peace, with happiness, a deep, contented weariness covered him, not unlike the warmth of Amy's quilt. He felt like he could sleep for days, right here, with her, lying like that. Amy was right, he was exhausted and emotionally drained. He hadn't slept, truly slept, in weeks.

"Sheldon?" Amy suddenly asked, her voice pulling him back from joyful slumber. "There's just one more important thing I have to know before we fall asleep. I know we have other things to discuss, but they can wait until later."

His eyes popped open, his heart suddenly hammering again. "What?" he whispered, frightened of what she might say.

Amy lifted her head up, looking down at him. "I just don't understand - I just can't imagine that you haven't been watching _The Flash_ since the very first episode. It's so out of character for you."

THE END

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 ** _Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


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